


The Art Of Calling Bluffs

by chasing_the_sterek



Series: Inktober 2017 [16]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Caring Sherlock, Falling in the Thames, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt John Watson, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, I wrote this with the gay in mind, Injured John, John cuddling in Sherlock's coat, M/M, Mild Angst, for the hypothermia of course, in that he just yells at john for being an idiot, lmfao it tried to suggest falling in love, sorry to disappoint but he's actually just falling in a river
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-02-10 14:58:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12914319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasing_the_sterek/pseuds/chasing_the_sterek
Summary: Lestrade sums the gist of it up in his head on the very first night of their first case together, as he watches them walk off and giggle and confront Mycroft Holmes and his poncy umbrella. His mind recalls vaguely how Sherlock had saidDoctor Watsonwillbe taking the bedroom upstairsjust before he walked into a drugs bust and the way John had slipped out of the door of 221B and said nary a word to the police as he ran off to save a man he barely knew.Fuck,is the closest way he can put words to the general feeling of that night.They're going to raise hell together.It turns out to be fairly accurate.///John falls in the Thames.





	The Art Of Calling Bluffs

**Author's Note:**

> Today's prompt was "drink/warm"
> 
> All of you who are following this in real time and not just clicking through belatedly know that this is extREMELY LATE AND I AM SORRY ABOUT THAT BUT REAL LIFE HAS BEEN SWALLOWING UP ALL MY FREE T I M E

With the arrival of one Sherlock Holmes in his life, the list of things that surprise Lestrade dwindles practically by the day. It would be a mistake, however, to presume that the surprises will ever run dry; particularly, Lestrade thinks, with the addition of one Doctor John Watson. 

He wasn't the best at science in school, but he thinks that John (if anyone does) counts as a new variable. It's like unknowingly having a faulty pack of cards and then suddenly being told that Kings are an actual thing and having to get your head around a whole new rank shoving itself between the Queens and the Aces. 

And then, on top of John's sudden and largely unexpected arrival into their lives, he acts as a whole new catalyst to everything Sherlock Holmes. Questions are answered and created in equal measure: Are crimes solved faster or slower or just the same? Is it easier to nick Lestrade's bloody ID if you have a comrade? How many more steps ahead of the police can you be if you have what seems to be, essentially, your own ambulance, bodyguard, scout, and fellow-detective-slash-sidekick, all rolled up into one man? 

Lestrade does not think all of this out in full until later, but the sums the gist of it up in his head on the very first night of their first case together, as he watches them walk off and giggle and confront Mycroft Holmes and his poncy umbrella. His mind recalls vaguely Sherlock's muffled _Doctor Watson **will** be taking the bedroom upstairs_ just before he walked into a drugs bust and the way John had slipped out of the door of 221B and said nary a word to the police as he ran off to save a man he barely knew. 

_Fuck,_ is the closest way he can put words to the feeling. 

He watches Sherlock bundle up the shock blanket and dump it into Lestrade's driving seat and stop, solemn and amused in equal measure as John says something about _dreadful business_ and _must've been, through that window._

The feeling repeats: _fuck. They're going to raise hell together._

It turns out to be fairly accurate. 

/// 

The little stretch of café front Sherlock texted him the location of is abandoned when he gets there, but Lestrade can hear shouting nearby, and he's not actually a complete idiot. He's nearly blinded by the sunlight coming off the Thames when he ducks out of the mouth of the alley, but he just squints until he can see the irritated silhouette of a certain detective. 

"What kind of _idiot_ jumps into the _Thames -"_

John sips at a steaming to-go cup, completely blank-faced. He's soaked, still dripping, actually, but one of them has dragged a chair around for him to sit in and he's curled up in Sherlock's coat. It would look almost comical, a grumpy wet cat burritoed in a coat that's far too large, if not for the lingering, dangerous blue tinge of his lips. 

It's an odd change of pace, to see John be the one injured; like trying to walk up another stair that isn't actually there. Sherlock is, for all of his calculations, typically the more reckless of the two; Lestrade is far more accustomed to the opposite dynamic of what is currently in front of him. 

"I rolled in," John corrects, with the kind of absent tone of voice of someone who knows that they're not being listened to. 

Sherlock is still angry. "Do you know what I cannot believe?" 

"I bet you'll tell me." 

John's voice is flat and sarcastic. Lestrade doesn't know whether he wants to interrupt or not when Sherlock continues. John rolls his eyes. 

"That you were willing to jump -" 

"Roll." 

Sherlock doesn't even pause. "- into the water on a _criminal's dare -"_

John meets Lestrade's eyes and quirks a tiny smile at him. Sherlock's phone is in his hand, the man himself tuned out, the text exchange with Lestrade still onscreen. Lestrade raises an eyebrow at him and nods at the phone. 

John shrugs. "He didn't notice. Or," he considers for a moment, "he did, but he was on a roll by then, so." 

Another shrug, this one accompanied by a cough. Sherlock's shouting falters for a moment and then enjoys a strong resurgence. John doesn't mention the coughing fit, so Lestrade doesn't bring it up either. The blue tint to his lips has faded under the warmth of two coats (apparently he'd had the foresight to take his off), but Lestrade shucks off his jacket and throws it over John's chest anyway. He thinks back to the first text. 

"He's been yelling at you for ten minutes?" 

"At least, the hypocrite." John rearranges the various coats tighter around himself, smiles. "Came around to it as he pulled me out of the water. I think he only stopped for breath when he went to ask about nicking a chair from the café and bought me tea." He raises his to-go cup in a cheerful toast to Sherlock's unexpected generosity. 

Lestrade smiles. "Aside from stealing my coat," he says, "what did you need me for?" 

John's gaze sharpens. "Ah, yes. Would you mind awfully if I camped out on your couch until I warm up a bit? You're almost guaranteed to have more blankets than 221B, since someone set our only one on fire recently." 

The last sentence comes complete with a semi-amused side-eyeing of Sherlock, whose relentless pacing has slowly begun to peter out. At some point, the background shouting had tempered itself down into mutterings. Now, even that stops completely, and he straightens and faces Lestrade. His tone, when he speaks loudly again, is harsh and almost biting. 

"Detective Inspector -" 

Lestrade looks at him and thinks about the frustrated mutterings of a younger Sherlock as Lestrade had ripped him a new one for his near-overdose. He watches Sherlock deduce his train of thought, sees him cross-reference it with this one, and smiles in acceptance at the little wry twist of an apology that ghosts across Sherlock's lips. 

"John is," Sherlock begins, in an ever so slightly softer tone, "as you have correctly deduced yourself, gradually improving. However, given the tendency for hypothermia patients to lean toward atrophy, I would recommend putting on your sirens." 

John coughs pointedly. 

Sherlock glares, but even as he grits out a begrudging "please," a certain spark has returned to his eyes - gratitude, maybe, for a friend who came close to leaving and then managed to stay, and for a friend to was there to help him through it. 

"Of course," Lestrade says.

**Author's Note:**

> Doesn't make up for my too-long hiatus, but it'll dO FOR NOW I GUESS LMAO


End file.
